


A Little Less Conversation

by memorizingthedigitsofpi



Series: June Fic-A-Day Challenge [6]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Elvis - Freeform, Gen, amazing story generator, dwarfs, fic a day challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 03:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4084276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz and Jemma work on and name the DWARFs (fic a day challenge)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Less Conversation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notapepper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notapepper/gifts).



> The 5th fic in my [Amazing Story Generator, Fic-A-Day challenge](http://memorizingthedigitsofpi.tumblr.com/post/120419056932/ive-been-thinking-for-a-while-that-id-like-to) for June. If you want to, you can send me a prompt of three numbers between 1 and 60.
> 
> Numbers: 22, 33, 44  
> Prompt: During the hottest summer on record, an Elvis impersonator creates a family of robots.

"Fuck!" Fitz swore as he dropped his screwdriver for the fifth time. He wiped his hands on his shorts to dry them off, but after doing that all day his shorts were too damp to be of any use.

"Shit," he sighed, wiping his brow with one forearm. How was he supposed to work on electronics as delicate as the drones if he was sweating all over the components?

With a loud grunt, he finally managed to pry the air conditioner unit from his window and place it on the floor. Collapsing beside it, he got to work on removing the case.

_A little less conversation, a little more action please..._

"Finally!" he breathed, letting out a puff of frustrated air. Picking up his phone on the second ring, he answered it testily. "Took you bloody long enough!"

"You might consider being nicer to the person bringing you ice cream," Jemma replied, just as annoyed. "Especially when that person is on the third floor of your six floor walkup." She was breathing hard in the heat and obviously in no mood to deal with Fitz's temper.

"Sorry," Fitz mumbled around the screwdriver he now held between his teeth. He had his phone propped between his shoulder and his ear and was removing the motor from the AC unit.

"You're not even listening, are you?" Jemma asked, sighing in exasperation.

"Mmhmm," he said, clearly not paying attention. "Door's open," he told her, removing the screwdriver from his mouth and starting to deconstruct the motor in his lap.

"When is it not?" she asked, hanging up as she walked into his apartment. She glanced around at the disarray and shook her head. How did he ever find anything in this mess? "Ice cream?" she offered, holding up the grocery bag and raising her brows.

Fitz looked up, mind clearly still on the machinery in front of him, but then his eyes refocused and a smile lit up on his face. "You're a star, Simmons!" he cheered, bouncing up from the floor. "A life saver!"

"Uh huh," she nodded dismissively. "Have you got any clean bowls?"

Fitz looked around his kitchenette, eying the dishes in the sink and mentally counting how many were in there. "I can probably manage a couple of spoons," he offered.

"Good enough," she shrugged off her bag and collapsed on the sofa with a container of Cherry Garcia.

Fitz grabbed the Chunky Monkey and sat down beside her, handing her a spoon as he sank into the cushion.

"Think you can fix it?" Jemma asked around a mouthful of icecream, nodding towards the AC.

"Looks like it might be just the fan belt," Fitz explained, digging his spoon deep into his own container. "I'll poke around a bit more to be sure, but I'll have it up and running again soon enough."

"Good," Jemma said, delicately unsticking her Tshirt from her chest and fanning the material briefly. She stood up and deposited the ice cream in his freezer and the spoon in the sink. "Call me when it's fixed."

"What?" Fitz asked around his spoon, a look of consternation on his face.

"If you want my help with the drones," she explained, wiping her hands across her face to wick off the perspiration. "Either bring them to my apartment where the air-con actually works," she gave him a pointed look. "Or call me when yours is fixed."

 -----------------------

"Still not fixed?" Jemma asked sympathetically as she opened her apartment door to a sweaty and annoyed-looking Fitz.

"I don't want to talk about it," he groused, shoving the door wider to accommodate the large case he was carrying.

"You can just set them up there on the table," she pointed as she grabbed a glass from a kitchen cabinet. "Ice water?" she asked him, already pouring a glass.

"Ta," he agreed, setting the case down and opening it up reverently.

She came to stand next to him at her dining table and handed him both the glass and a hand towel.

"Good idea," he grinned, raising the towel to wipe off his face.

Jemma wrinkled her nose as he raised his arm. "Oh Fitz," she said with a squint and a measure of disgust.

He frowned and then lifted his arm further and smelled underneath it. "Phew!" he said with surprise. "Bit whiff, eh?" he apologized.

"You go take a shower," Jemma offered, "and I'll start in on the drones."

Fitz downed the glass of water and wiped his mouth off with a satisfied, "Ahh." Placing the glass carefully next to the sink, he pointed a thumb at her bathroom. "My shampoo still in the...?"

"In the cabinet on the left, yes," she confirmed, already taking the drones out of their case.

"Back in a mo' "

"Mmhmm."

\-----------------------

_Close your mouth and open up your heart and baby satisfy me_

Fitz sighed as he got out of the shower. Jemma was nothing if not predictable. She'd get some song stuck on a loop in her head and she'd play nothing but that for weeks on end. Right now, it was Elvis Presley. Two months before, it had been Rihanna. He was personally hoping she'd go back to Mozart of something next because that was easier to block out.

Then he shook his head when he remembered the time during exams when the song of the moment had been the 1812 Overture.

He exited the bathroom into her bedroom and grabbed a Tshirt from her third dresser drawer. Giving his shorts a quick sniff, he deemed them fairly inoffensive before putting them back on. Tossing his much smellier shirt in her hamper, he opened her bedroom door and had to stop short at the sight in front of him.

Jemma had the drones up and flying, investigating the various corners of her apartment, and she was dancing around amongst them. Elvis himself would have been proud of the hip movements she was displaying, although he might have preferred them to actually match the rhythm of the song.

She was just performing an equally impressive and horrifying spin when she noticed him. "Fitz!" she said excitedly, waving him over. "I've got it!"

"Got what?" he asked, weaving his way amongst the hovering quad-copters, ducking when they got too close to his head.

"D.W.A.R.F.s" she said proudly, showing him the tablet screen.

After she'd started them scanning her apartment, she had brought up a whiteboard app and started scribbling words on it until she'd found the ones she was looking for.

Drones

Wirelessly

Automated to

Retrieve

Forensics

"Bit wordy, don't you think?" Fitz asked skeptically.

"It's perfect!" Jemma argued. "It describes them accurately while also referencing the fact that there are seven of them," she smiled, pride still very much in evidence.

"What?" Fitz laughed. "You want to call them Sleepy and Doc, do you?"

"Why not?" she asked seriously.

"Well..." he blinked. He couldn't really think of a reason.

"So it's settled then," she said firmly.

Fitz opened his mouth helplessly, but just then the song came back around to the beginning again.

"A little less conversation, a little more action please," Jemma sang triumphantly.

"All this aggravation ain't satisfactionin' me," Fitz gave in and sang along.

\-----------------------

"D.W.A.R.F.s?" Dr. Weaver asked, reading the report in front of her. She sighed and shook her head. "We really have to stop letting him name things."


End file.
